Why

When does this come to an end? In-between your foe and my friend, apathy checks us in, as its picnic's about to begin. And I never misheard you, did I? Yet you're not able to explain. This time window I look through is dirty and remains so after the rain. I inwrap myself into spring sun rays as the youngsters skateboard by. And the only thought that is staying is the painfully pulsing "why?" You see, runners remind of him, and the cars coloured gold or stone, wine bottles on the shelves of the shops - haunting objects, being hard to control. So next time just let me mishear. And greet apathy in advance. Since I know for a girl like me - no dice after a likely chance. 30.04. 2014